Last Night: Sponsored by Jack Daniels
by FerryBerry
Summary: Slight AU. The Cheerios, Finn, and Puck come into glee with hangovers, leading to a dare none of them are quite prepared to handle.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. All belongs to _Glee_ writers and creators. (And it's not really sponsored by Jack Daniels. I just made that up for humor value, I promise.)

**A/N:** Sigh. Don't ask…I don't even know.

**Last Night: Sponsored by Jack Daniels**

"Why is it that you put your two cents in, but you only get a penny for your thoughts? What happens to the other cent?"

Santana groaned and thudded her forehead against the table.

"And what if an atheist goes to court? They can't swear on the Bible, can they? And what about us Jewish people? Do we use a Torah instead?"

Puck sighed as the cheerleader next to him slowly lifted her head, glowering at him. He knew exactly what she was thinking. This was the worst idea _ever_.

"And what happens if you get a paper cut on a Get Well Soon card?"

Had they honestly thought getting Berry drunk would make any difference whatsoever? He could only conclude that they had, since she was drunk. But still talking. Nonstop.

"What about if you find a four-leaf clover under a ladder? Oh! Or what if a black cat walks under a ladder _and_ breaks a mirror?"

Finn had fallen asleep long ago, and he was presently sprawled out on the floor next to Puck's chair, snoring. He always had been a lightweight when it came to his alcohol. Lucky bastard.

"Can you actually read a picture book? Wouldn't you have to 'view' it?"

Brittany was also snoozing with her head in her arms. In her case, however, it had more to do with a hard Cheerios practice and Santana wearing her out than with her ability to hold her alcohol. Lucky bitch.

"And why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle? It sticks everywhere else once you squirt it out."

Puck was relieved to hear something that wasn't a question. Sort of. Mostly he just wanted to throw his tequila bottle at her. He took another long swig, hoping it would help him pass out sooner.

"Okay, here's one: if Winnie the Pooh was sophisticated enough to put his honey in jars…why did he always eat it off his hands? Did he not have spoons?"

Santana had given up on the beer a long time ago and broke into Puck's mom's liquor cabinet for the whisky. She had a hard enough time putting up with Rachel on a regular basis without the aid of alcohol. But this? This called for the big guns.

"And what about Donald Duck? He wears a shirt, but no pants. What is up with that?"

The only person in the room who seemed completely unfazed by it, while still conscious, was Quinn. Who he didn't really think was listening anyway. She was actually just looking at Rachel's hand a lot, turning it from side to side and examining it. She always was a little overly friendly when she was drunk.

"And what if you have a cold Hot Pocket? Is it just a pocket then?"

And while Quinn was the only one unfazed by Rachel's rambling, Rachel was completely unfazed by the hand-examination. She just kept gesturing with her free hand as though nothing was happening. Which was Puck's proof that she was definitely, _definitely_ drunk.

"How old exactly do you have to be before they can say you died of old age?"

It had started out as a joke, really. They'd all gotten smashed over the weekend and Rachel was lecturing them about coming to glee with hangovers. Santana—rightly—said she wouldn't get it, and Rachel had, of course, gotten offended and said she'd had alcohol before. Puck—rightly—replied that it probably wasn't enough to get her truly drunk. And Brittany commented that she probably didn't even know what 'type' of drunk she was.

"Why did Sally sell seashells on the seashore? That doesn't seem very profitable. You could just pick them up off the beach for free."

Trust Rachel to be able to do a tongue-twister when wasted. Puck sighed.

"Since we have angel food cake and angel hair, does heaven have people food cake and people hair?"

Rachel hadn't even known what a 'drunk type' was. Puck explained he was a horny drunk—which Santana remarked didn't make much of a difference, and Rachel readily agreed, but asked them to elaborate. So they had.

"If you pamper a cow, do you get spoiled milk?"

Santana was a goofy drunk; Brittany was a catatonic drunk; Quinn was a friendly drunk; Finn was a cranky turned conked drunk. They'd had to explain the last part to Rachel, too. And then Finn had jokingly dared her to get drunk with them this weekend. And after Quinn said she wouldn't have the guts, Rachel promptly decided to take it as a challenge. Puck had secretly hoped she would be a horny drunk, but no such luck.

"If the Wicked Witch of the West melts in water, how did she bathe? Or was it just that one bucket of water? In which case, why would she keep it at her castle in such a random spot? Why didn't she just pour it out? Why did she have water at the castle at all?"

"Nope. Not man hands," Quinn said suddenly, setting Rachel's hand ceremoniously on the table.

Brittany jerked awake and Santana exchanged a disturbed glance with Puck. Finn was still snoring.

"Thank you, Quinn. Why do people refer to being happy or in love as 'head over heels'? Isn't that how we are already?"

"Wha'd I miss?" Brittany asked with a yawn.

"About a million more questions," Santana groaned, banging her head on the table again.

"And if you knew the levee was dry, why would you drive there?"

"And we're out of beer," Puck added, proffering his tequila bottle.

The blonde took it gratefully and proceeded to sit there, stroking one hand through Santana's hair while the other occasionally tilted the bottle back to her mouth.

"Why isn't 'palindrome' spelled the same way backwards? And for that matter, why isn't 'phonetic' spelled the way it sounds? And why is 'abbreviate' such a long word?"

The three conscious but un-entranced exchanged wide-eyed glances. They barely knew those words when they were _sober_.

Now that her hand-examination was over, Quinn had taken to leaning on her elbow on the table and staring at Rachel.

"Why is the alphabet in that order? Is it because of the song, do you think?"

Santana sighed and Puck took a drink of the whisky. It really was a time for strong liquor. And it was the only thing keeping them from dumping Berry in an alley somewhere.

"And why is it that when two things almost crash into one another it's called a 'near miss'? Shouldn't it be—be a 'near hit'?"

At that brief hitch, Santana's head popped up and Puck glanced over, too. They had hope that she would stop talking, but then she resumed as though nothing had happened—though something had. Quinn was now examining Rachel's neck with her hands. Puck glanced at Santana, whose brow furrowed so far he was briefly afraid she would get stuck that way.

"Why do we say our alarm clock is—is 'going off' when it's really—really coming on?"

Rachel shot furtive glances at the blonde to her right, who remained unaware of anything but her inspection. She was brushing Rachel's hair to the side for a better view, running her fingers—very lightly, from the looks of it—over the skin of her throat and neck.

"What's a hacky? And why is—why is it in a sack? Who put—put it there?"

Puck looked to Santana again. Quinn was always extremely friendly when she was drunk, but usually she just wanted to cuddle or something. It might be time to intervene. But now they had a slight dilemma. On the one hand, Quinn was their friend and they should stop her from doing things she wouldn't enjoy remembering when she woke up. On the other, why did they have to babysit her?

"If a singer sings—um…sings their own song during karaoke, is it still…is it still karaoke?"

And on a completely different hand, Quinn was actually making Rachel pause. Which was such a relief to Puck's ears he couldn't bring himself to stop her. Plus, girl-on-girl was just plain hot, even if they weren't doing anything.

"Wh-why is 'Joey' short for—for 'Joe'? 'Joey' h-has more…um…letters."

Santana sat up in alarm when Quinn started _smelling_ Rachel's hair. Puck grinned lazily until she glared at him. Brittany didn't seem concerned by this at all, but then…she was fine with the things they did when they were drunk when she was the only sober one. But if things were actually going the direction it looked like they were going…well, they would have to stop Quinn before she did something she _really_ didn't want to do. Damn it.

"Why is there a—a toll on—on freeways?"

Santana reached across the table, snaring Quinn's elbow, and tugged on it. The blonde swatted her away.

"Q, you need to stop now," she slurred.

Her face was still buried in Rachel's hair and neck, so the response was muffled, but it was definitely: "Uh-uh."

"Why…why do people squint when…when they're trying to see something better? Doesn't that…um…make it harder?"

Santana tugged again. "Q, seriously."

"Mm-mm."

That was another thing about Drunk Quinn. Her sentences were reduced to three words or less, and the words in them were usually only one syllable. It kind of made Puck think of a two-year-old girl. With pigtails.

"Um…would a…would a fly without wings be called a…a 'walk'?"

Brittany snorted, and Puck couldn't help a little smile, too. If she kept asking questions like that, it wouldn't be so bad. Quinn was still shoving Santana's hand off, and Rachel had completely given up on gesturing. Now she was just sitting very still in her chair, still talking—but almost like she didn't know she still was.

"Q, _really_. You're not gonna like this in the morning," Santana drawled, shaking her head.

"Good smell," Quinn protested vehemently.

"Why's a partially open door 'ajar', but a partially open jar isn't 'adoor'?"

"Puck, you try," Santana grumbled, plopping in her chair.

Brittany stroked her arm. Puck sighed. He didn't know if he could get up without falling over. He set down the whisky bottle slowly, easing himself onto his feet and carefully avoiding hitting the table on his groin. He wobbled for a second, nudging Finn with his foot, then leaned over and tapped Quinn, who pushed him off again.

"Quinn," he tried.

"No. I like," she purred, petting Rachel's hair.

If Puck wasn't mistaken, Rachel's already flushed cheeks went a little redder.

"Why…why do, um, 'flammable' and 'inflammable' mean the same thing?"

"Quinn, er, you…stop." Puck had no idea when his lips had gotten so hard to move. "Like now."

She lifted her head for the first time since she'd started, and she pinned Puck with a steely glare. Or at least, that's what the two of her looked like they were doing. He blinked and shook his head.

"Get your own," Quinn growled. "This one's mine."

Yep, Rachel's cheeks were definitely redder than before. Quinn went back to hair-smelling, and Puck dropped back into his chair. The world was pretty dizzy for a moment, and he was afraid he'd have to run for the bathroom, but everything settled, and that's when he noticed Santana and Brittany had abandoned him. He huffed.

"When…when does the alcohol take effect? I feel fine," Rachel asked suddenly—only this time it was actually directed at someone—and Puck scoffed.

"Try standing up," he mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Oh."

"I want a kiss," Quinn said then. Only she was so wasted it came out, "I wan'akiss."

Puck's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Rachel, who blinked at Quinn several times—either she was processing, or she had the double-vision thing, too.

"Mmkay," she mumbled, and Puck's eyebrows climbed even higher. "Hold still."

Puck decided it was the double-vision thing, because Rachel turned in her chair and held Quinn's shoulders for a few moments, as though trying to steady herself. Then she leaned forward and clumsily pressed her lips to Quinn's, though it was a bit off the actual mark.

Quinn didn't seem to mind. Her hands were still tangled in Rachel's hair, and she pressed back into the kiss with gusto. She wasn't as tight with her tongue as Berry, Puck noted, because she swiped it sloppily along Rachel's lips and then what started out as awkward lip-bumping turned into a full-blown makeout session.

They moaned into each other's mouths and started tugging at clothes, and before Puck could fully process what was happening, Quinn had yanked Rachel into her lap so she was straddling her and she was slipping her hands under her shirt and Rachel was rubbing against her, and even though the blonde soon half-carried, half-dragged Rachel to another room, Puck grinned.

Because there were two drunken lesbian couples having sex in his house, _and_ Quinn had managed to find a way to shut Rachel up.

And then Puck had his own question, which made him groan.

Why hadn't he thought of that first?


End file.
